For the Entertainment
by FantasticallyFanatical
Summary: St. Berry. One-shot. Post Season 2. "When she said she was here for the entertainment, it appeared Rachel meant it rather literally."


_A/N: Well. This is, by a long stretch, not my best work and it's been a long time since I wrote anything St. Berry related. It's also sickeningly cutesy at the end and I apologise in advance for the vomit-inducing last paragraph. However, reading would be good (reviewing would be great too!) but most of all, I hope you enjoy._

_P.S. I own nothing. If I did, I wouldn't need to write St. Berry fiction. It would all be FACT._

-StB-

"Wow," Jesse chuckles, and he almost seems nervous. "Rachel?"

"_Berry_," Rachel substitutes slowly for him, like she's talking to someone with increasingly lower intellect. And maybe she's a little bit put out he can't remember her name; she remembers a lot (arguably too much) about him but perhaps he meant more to her than she to him.

"Right," Jesse chuckles somewhat nervously again, "I wasn't sure if you were married or – or something."

Rachel arches an eyebrow because the Jesse she knew didn't get nervous and this was probably why: it simply didn't suit him. And suddenly she's no longer put out because he _did_ remember who she was. In fact he remembered more than she'd ever know and that's why he was sure she'd be married by now – only an idiot would turn her away. (Yes, he's idiot number one).

"Apparently high maintenance isn't a trait many men factor into their relationships," she laughs and it should sound a little bit bitter but it doesn't.

"I guess not," Jesse replies, internally cringing at his lack of proper conversation. He tugs at the tie around his neck because it seems far too tight and far too contriving but Rachel just smiles a smile that doesn't quite seem platonic. She reaches out and threads the tie through her fingers, adjusting it gently and he can't help but let his eyes drop to her hands which hover dangerously close to his neck.

"And is there a Mrs St. James?" Rachel asks as if she's commenting on something as trivial the weather, but it's clear it's a ploy to find out just where they stand (just as clear as the fact she's no longer the embarrassed little girl she used to be.) She smoothes down his tie and then smoothes out the top of his chest, sending a wink over her shoulder as she turns back to the table to collect herself a glass of champagne. He doesn't answer, mainly because he's in awe of this newly updated Rachel Berry in front of him. She smiles that smile again (the one he can't quite put a word to) and she instructs him to hold her drink, but the minute he reaches out for the glass, she takes the drink to her lips and his hand falls limply back down.

"No wedding ring," she points out and Jesse foolishly checks his own hand to reassure himself of that fact. "Divorced?"

"Rachel, I'm only 27." He points it out like she's forgotten. She hasn't.

"I know," she shrugs, "Things happen. So if you're not divorced, what exactly are you? Because I refuse to believe the infamous Jesse St. James is living alone. You need someone to repeatedly stroke your ego to survive."

"You can talk Miss _Run-Joey-Run,_" he retorts quickly but there is humour behind his eyes and behind his words. Her raucous laughter shocks him a little and she manages to spill some of her champagne down his leg.

"Oh my gosh, I'd completely forgotten about that!" Rachel crows with laughter and Jesse, a little bemused, laughs along because her laugh is still that addictive. "You were so hormonal back in those days, St. James. So brooding, so _tortured_. But come on, spill."

"There's not much to say," he replies but Rachel eyes him coyly because she simply can't believe this is true. He tries to think up some witty reply or at least something borderline interesting, but he realises by the way she's raising her eyebrow he's already bypassed the acceptable time spent thinking up a reply. "A few failed relationships that are nothing to be proud of."

"Fair cop," Rachel smiles, handing him a glass of champagne, waiting for him to take a sip. He does so, ever so slowly and she matches his actions, her eyes never leaving his face. "You've aged well," she comments and the way her eyes drift upwards to his eyes tell him she's just trying to provoke a reaction (he can't blame her – he hasn't exactly been the spark of conversation.) He's tempted to test the water and tell her she hasn't (even though she has, she really has) but he decides against it because (unbeknown to himself) he's waited so long to see her again and he doesn't want to ruin it. He's even ignored the champagne stain on his trousers because he wants to remember this meeting for the right reasons, not the wrong ones. "So what's your secret?"

"My secret?" He internally starts to panic, wracking his brains for some shady, unearthed secret that's going to somehow haunt him. He manages to keep his voice calm and steady (or so he thinks) but something gives him away because he sees Rachel chuckle into her champagne. She refrains from answering him though and makes no secret of the way she looks him up and down, taking in every aspect of his appearance.

"So apart from failing in relationships, what else has your time consisted of?" She's grinning as she talks and he's sure she's more than aware what he's been up to (3 lead roles on Broadway do not go unnoticed. Nor do two Tony nominations. And a win.)

"Taking Broadway by storm," he announces nonchalantly and that childhood arrogance is back in place and it's not until now that Rachel realises how much she's missed it. "What about you?"

She rolls her eyes, that smirk still in place because he's playing her at her own game. She's had two off-Broadway leads, countless stage productions and she's in the pipeline for a newly updated film version of Rent.

"Like you don't know," she tells him, taking a slow sip from her glass. "You've seen every one of my shows, Jesse."

It wouldn't be so embarrassing if it wasn't true, but he had in fact purchased tickets to everything she's ever starred in. He wants to ask her how she knows but if he's honest, he's a little scared of the answer. This is Rachel Berry they're talking about, she's probably got his name, card details and number stored on record to track all his purchases. It's only now it dawns on him that he doesn't have a clue if she's seen all of his. In fact, he doesn't know if she's been to any of his performances. She's bound to have heard of them, not to mention having seen his show stopping routine at the Tony's last year but that's as much as he knows.

And it's apparently as much as he's ever going to know because Rachel's onto her next glass of champagne and is not about to divulge any more information. Not about this topic anyway.

"How do you know Jenny?" Rachel asks, cocking her head just slightly.

"Mutual friends," Jesse informs Rachel with a smirk. "How do _you _know her?"

Rachel inches herself closer to Jesse so that she can whisper into his ear. "I don't," she tells him and he can hear her lips cracking into a smile. She returns to standing in front of him and he sees the smile he heard. "I'm really just here for the entertainment. Life can get a little boring, you know?"

Jesse eyes her, wondering if this is another of her vague little expressions. She merely continues to smile, her eyes as unreadable as ever.

"Well," Rachel concludes after a second or two, "I should get go-"

"What happened to you?" Jesse starts speaking at the same time Rachel does and for once she quietens to let him speak. "After I," he pauses, trying to find the right word (there isn't one.) "Departed."

Rachel laughs this single, sharp laugh and Jesse can't quite isolate the feeling behind it. "I cried a lot, I dated far too many guys and then I accepted the truth."

He feels a little uncomfortable as she embarks on an intense study on his face, her eyes slowly drifting to each feature. "The truth?"

"That you were scared," she says quietly, taking a step forwards so one of her legs begins to gently wedge itself between his. "And I was foolish." She closes the gap between them completely so her body can feel every single fibre of his. She lifts her head, places a soft, gentle kiss on his cheek and hands him her half empty glass. "Guard my drink?"

He doesn't have time to answer before she's slipping into the throng of people in front him. He stares dumbly at the glass in his hand and smiles awkwardly at a nearby blonde who stifles a grin: it seems the infamous Jesse St. James just got walked away from. He returns a sheepish attempt at a smile and absently flicks through his phone, trying to look like he's not at a party standing alone (he is.)

Fifteen minutes pass and Jesse's ready to admit he's been done over by Berry until he hears – or doesn't hear – an impending silence. And then a voice, a voice that spreads around the crystallised room, coating every person's ear with a sweet softness. A voice he recognises from the off. When she said she was here for the entertainment, it appeared Rachel meant it rather literally.

She finishes, some songs later, to a room of warm applause and she grins, a little flushed but all the same appreciative of the (many) compliments.

"A Katy Perry song, Rachel?" She flicks her middle finger at him as discreetly as she can before edging her way to where Jesse stands. "And there was me thinking _you_ had more taste."

Rachel merely raises an eyebrow and glances down to his hands, ignoring his last statement. "Word on the street is you've changed, St. James." She takes the glass back out of her hands and lifts it to her lips. "Let's test that theory shall we?"

He doesn't quite comprehend her suggestion and watches as she swallows the remainder of her drink down, remaining in a state of confusion until his eyes clamp shut and her lips brush against his. It's quick and chaste and in the middle of a crowded room – Jesse has to smirk at her efforts.

She pulls away first, slowly releasing his lips but keeping her hands on the back of his neck. Jesse comes to realise he didn't even notice Rachel putting them there but one thing he does know is that he doesn't want them to move from there.

"It seems you're a little rusty," she whispers what Jesse swears is some sort of poison into his ears. "Maybe we should go and work on that."

He finds himself finally finding that leading man material he used to be so very full of and takes her by the hand, leading her out the party and into the New York air. He slips both arms around her waist to bring her body moulding around his and places a bruising kiss on her lipstick-stained lips.

"What were you saying about rusty?" Jesse questions as the need for air takes over and he's finally able to use his lips for speech. Rachel involuntarily smiles a smile from her youth, one that he remembers from when they did this the first time around. She doesn't answer; instead places a soft kiss to his lips and then moves away from him completely.

"What are we doing, Jesse?" She runs a hand through the tresses of her hair and Jesse's stomach lurches as he finds himself wanting to do exactly the same with his own hand.

"I believe it's known as kissing, Rachel." His sarcasm earns him a playful slap, which he decides he probably deserves. She sighs, licks her lips and searches for her phone.

"Well it's not going to help things," she frowns, an air of thoughtfulness painted over her features. He can tell from the wistful look on her face that she's seriously giving kissing him again some consideration and so takes the decision out of her hands by leaning down and making the contact for her. She responds until she feels his hands rest comfortably on her hips and pulls away in a way she hopes is somewhat firm and authoritative but she can tell from his one-sided smile and arched left eyebrow that it isn't at all.

"It helps a little," he points out and she smiles a small, coy smile that brings warmth to his eyes that he hasn't seen in himself for what feels like years. He raises an eyebrow, eagerly awaiting her ever-so-educated comeback. But it won't come because she's of the same thought: it does help a little. "I told you," he grins, scooping his arm back around her waist so he can reach her lips again.

He feels her trying to voice her protests against his lips and sneakily takes his chance and lets the kiss deepen. It silences her protests because until that moment, the kiss was playful and platonic but now it's real and romantic and risky and just a little bit exciting.

"I'm not going home with you tonight," she informs him the minute they break for air.

"I know, Rachel." He quickly resumes the kiss and Rachel finds herself unable to find any desire to stop him. His thumb plays absently with one of her earrings and Rachel can't think of any place she'd rather be.

When, two months later, they're lying on the sofa with their bodies entwined, Rachel realises there actually isn't any other place she'd rather be than right here in his arms.


End file.
